


The Picture of Waylon Park

by Saccharine_Ghosts



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Anxiety, Domestic, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Slow Burn, Student!Variants, Teacher!Protagonists, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 17:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saccharine_Ghosts/pseuds/Saccharine_Ghosts
Summary: “Thanks, Miles is normally pretty good with computers so it must be an actual problem.”There goes his stress-free night.Miles Upshur was a new teacher this year at R.G. Wernicke, just his first year of teaching as a contracted teacher and not a substitute, which normally means strict since they do not really know their footing quite yet, but quite fun for the kids since they’re closer in age to their teacher. This is not the case with Miles. He was passionate about his teaching and he was not strict, but his blunt attitude and general disdain for frivolous behaviour definitely gave him a name at the school. His junior and senior students often compared him to an old, cynical university professor instead of a high school English teacher, others saying he was too young to be a teacher, too apathetic. That is not why Waylon was so stressed about Miles, he could hold his own against a stringent co-worker any day –But Miles Upshur was quite possibly the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on.





	The Picture of Waylon Park

**Author's Note:**

> So after the dramatic and self-indulgent mayhem that was Farewell Transmission, I've decided to finally focus on a real, serious fanfic project. This is one of the first projects of mine that I've been very proud of. I love the horror aspect of Outlast, but I'm tired of hurting these boys, and this is what came out of it.
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this happy, light-hearted take on Outlast. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Title comes from the Oscar Wilde novel 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'**  
>  _Rating may change._

“Listen guys, I hate to be the bad guy, but we took last Friday’s period off for a movie night, and Monday we had a fire drill, so this class and every class next week we have to move double time – “ 

A resounding grown echoed throughout the room, a collective wounded cry from the students behind their computers. 

“Guuuuys,” sighed Waylon as he folded his arms, “I know, but summer’s coming up, and I need your web pages up and running so I can mark them, unless you would rather spend the break with – “ 

The teacher was met with another loud chorus of exasperated groans, and he chuckled quietly as he shook his head. Kids always loved his classes, but this late in the year they all had one thing on their mind: summer vacation. Everybody’s work got sloppy and rushed, even the teachers’, so he did not bother reprimanding them for their small bout of disrespectful behaviour. 

Despite the earlier complaining, they all began their work, plugging away at their web page designs that they had been working on for the past few weeks. Waylon had taught all the freshman students the very basics of HTML coding over the final semester, so this was their final assignment for the year, and it was always one of his favourites. The goal was to have your students learn and enjoy themselves at the same time, and what better way to do both than to explore an interest of yours while practicing what you learned? 

He walked around the small, cramped classroom, answering questions and giving tips to kids who looked like they were struggling. He saw quite a few pages about animals, one about comic books, another about a video game that he recognized from the release calendar he had set up on his computer at home, but was yet to pick up. Every year saying goodbye got harder and harder, but you would think it got easier. He would have some of these kids next year, he knew, but summers were always so bland for him and he had grown close to many of the kids in this class in particular. 

“Mr. Park,” a small pockmarked girl asked, “What do you do over the summer? I’ve always wondered.” 

Many of the kids turned towards him, obviously intrigued by what he might answer. 

“I know it’d be cool if I said I was some undercover spy working for the CIA using my info tech job at a public high school to cover up my secret identity for a mission, but that’d be a lie, it’s quite boring,” he walked back to his desk and sat at his computer, “I do some IT work for schools in the district. Set up new programs, clean their systems after you guys download all sorts of fun viruses, that sort of thing.” 

“I just thought teachers didn’t work over the summer,” another boy added in, “That sucks that you don’t get a break too.” 

“For me it feels like I only work in the summer,” Waylon smiled, “Which is corny and lame, but I’m corny and lame.” 

Before anybody could comment further, a dark head popped in his room, making all of the kids shoot up at the interruption. 

“Hi, Mr. Langermann!” 

The beloved photography teacher adjusted his glasses bashfully and waved at the enthusiastic greeting. 

“Hey kids, can I steal Mr. Park for just two seconds?” 

Waylon excused himself and followed Blake out the door, shutting it quietly behind them to not disturb the hard-working kids on the other side and a few from other classes that had been banished to the hallway for presumably bad behaviour. 

“Any chance you could do me a solid?” 

Waylon crossed his arms and tapped his foot, “Define solid, Blake, I feel like I’ve been doing more and more of those over the past few months.” 

“Oh, please, Waylon!” the tall man begged, “It’s just a quick fix in the arts wing after school! I know it would normally be my job but Lynn’s mom is in town, and we have to pick her up from the airport in like three hours, and I’m already fucking stressed with all this end of the year marking, you know? Now Lynn’s fucking _mom_ I know I’m going to get wrung out for not setting a date for the wedding, and I just – “

“Blake,” Waylon interrupted before the man could ramble any further, “I’ll do it, just tell me what has to be done.” 

“Oh man, Way, you’re a life saver!” 

He went on to explain how an teacher’s laptop had stopped charging properly and was probably in need of a new fan or possibly a new battery, but the diagnosis was yet to be given since Blake had not had time to check it out himself. It was simple enough; he would go to the art wing after school, tell the dimwit to replace their ancient MacBook or buy a new battery, simple enough. He would be out of there in no time and home in perfect time to catch the new episode of Westworld and order a pizza while he marked some assignments. Simple. Routine. Stress free. 

“Thanks, Miles is normally pretty good with computers so it must be an actual problem.” 

There goes his stress-free night. 

Miles Upshur was a new teacher this year at R.G. Wernicke, just his first year of teaching as a contracted teacher and not a substitute, which normally means strict since they do not really know their footing quite yet, but quite fun for the kids since they’re closer in age to their teacher. This is not the case with Miles. He was passionate about his teaching and he was not strict, but his blunt attitude and general disdain for frivolous behaviour definitely gave him a name at the school. His junior and senior students often compared him to an old, cynical university professor instead of a high school English teacher, others saying he was too young to be a teacher, too apathetic. That is not why Waylon was so stressed about Miles, he could hold his own against a stringent co-worker any day – 

But Miles Upshur was quite possibly the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on. 

Waylon wished this was an exaggeraton, but oh no, it definitely was not. He remembered the opening ceremony for that year when Miles had been introduced, taking the slimy and conniving Principle Blaire’s jarring handshake like a pro, and matching his repulsive grin with a boyish smirk that made Waylon, and half the volleyball team, swoon. 

“Holy crap,” one of the girls had whispered, “I think I might be signing up for English Lit next year…” 

Suffice to say, he avoided the man like the plague for the rest of the year, especially after all the talk of how tough and intimidatingly quick he was. Blake could not say enough good things about the guy, how funny and charming he could be, how they shared many of the same interests, and sure, Waylon believed him, but he was quite socially anxious enough as it is and to add an absolutely stunning younger man to the equation? Confrontation, conversation, or even eye contact alone might turn Waylon into a blubbering, rambling mess. One look from those dark amber eyes would have the older man in a puddle at his feet, and he did not think he needed that kind of embarrassment right now, or ever. Avoiding every invite from Blake to hang out with the man and staff parties had led to this point and it was all crumbling beneath him. 

He must look worried when he walks in, because he is staring at his Chucks as he makes his way to his desk and doesn’t hear the multiple calls of his name until one of his students is standing at his desk waving a hand in front of his face. 

“Hm – Oh hey, Michael, what’s up?” 

“You look pale, are you okay, Mr. Park?” 

“Yeah, oh yeah,” he said, trying to pass as completely fine and casual, “Everything’s good. Get back to work, guys, we don’t have much time left.” 

Neither did Waylon. Looking at the clock, the period was halfway over, and he only had one left before…

God, somebody help him. 

The seconds ticked by, each hour feeling just a few minutes long until the bell rang for the kids to be dismissed and he found his feet involuntarily carrying him to the art wing. It normally wasn’t so bad, but right now he was really noticing how most of the high school kids were taller than him, looming over him by a few inches, sometimes maybe even a foot. Waylon felt like he was shrinking, and every year the students got taller. Some of them whom he had taught or had classes with him smiled and said hello, some he didn’t even recognize did as well, which calmed him a bit. Who knew what kind of mood Miles Upshur would be in? He hoped a good one. 

As he approached the door to the English room, he paused to knock, but not before overhearing a voice inside. 

“Listen kiddo, I know things are rough at home, but I need these assignments in or I can’t pass you.” 

“B-But Mr. Upshur, I – “ 

“Eddie, it’s not really up for discussion. These were mandatory assignments; I can’t just let ‘em slip by. Believe me, if I could I would.” 

There was a moment of silence. 

“I’ll… I’ll try but… I’d have to drop a few shifts at the garage.” 

The teacher sighed exasperatedly, and there was a sound of papers being shuffled around. 

“Tell you what; just the term paper on Reading Gaol, the gods and goddesses essay, and an A on the final and we’ll call it even.” 

“… you’re sure?” 

“Yeah Ed, but you better do well on that final or you are getting a _stern_ talking to,” it was said like a threat but he could hear the smile in Miles’ voice. 

“Thanks, Mr. Upshur! I swear, I-I’ll do whatever it takes!” 

Waylon only had a second of panic before the door swung open to reveal him with his fist still raised like he was going to knock; like he had intended. 

“Oh,” Miles raised an eyebrow, “Mr. Park, here to do Mr. Langermann’s job for him?” 

Eddie gave Miles and Waylon a confused look before hastily disappearing down the hall, backpack slumped over one shoulder lazily. 

“I uh- I’m here to – “ 

“Check my computer, I know,” he gestured Waylon inside the classroom and shut the door behind him, “Lynn’s mom, right?” 

“Yeah, he’s pretty stressed.” 

“I would be too, any blood relative of Lynn strikes fear into my heart, that’s for sure,” he led Waylon to his desk where a rather new looking laptop was resting, plugged into a power bar under the desk. “I haven’t had the sucker very long but it just… keeps dyin’ on me, I don’t know what to do.” 

Waylon pursed his lips and nodded, leaning over the desk a bit to get a better look at what he was dealing with. It felt hot, overheating, and when he opened it up to check the inside, Blake’s original diagnosis had been correct, the fan was overworking and the computer had shut down on it’s own. 

“It’s um…” Waylon unplugged it, “It’s the fan. It’s fully charged,” he pressed a button on the side to show the battery indication, “It just won’t turn on because it’s overheating. Keep it off for today, then I’ll bring you a new fan tomorrow, okay?” 

He finally turned around and got his first good look at the younger man, but he wished he hadn’t. Miles never wore very formal attire as was directed, but today was quite the exception. Instead of his normal dark slacks and white button down, he had on a pair of black track pants and a light blue hoodie with a university emblem on it. If Waylon didn’t know him, he might have thought Miles was one of the students, and his long, dark eyelashes and thick, purposefully tousled hair did not help him look any older. 

“The bastard wasn’t turning on,” he motioned to himself, “and I got mad and accidently spilt my coffee all over myself.” 

The sudden speaking ripped Waylon from his inappropriate thoughts, making him stand straight and avoid the younger man’s eye.

“Don’t let them get to you, man, Macs are just glorified smartphones, they’re not meant for big tasks.” 

Miles smirked, “Guess I shouldn’t be downloading Gossip Girl while I’ve got seventeen word documents open, huh?” 

That made Waylon laugh, and Miles’ grin only brightened. 

“Right, I think maybe the graduates of Constance Billard’s School for Girls can wait until R.G. Wernicke Secondary is out of session, don’t you?” 

Miles dramatically scoffed, “The _real_ question is can Miles Upshur wait that long, and the answer is no.” 

“Maybe you should consider getting a less shitty computer,” he pointed to the folded clothes lying on the counter behind them, “You know, before you lose your temper again.” 

Miles snorted, he _snorted_ , and although it was adorable, Waylon breathed one small sigh of relief that at least one thing the gorgeous man did wasn’t perfect by conventional standards, so he must be at least a little human. 

“I’ll bring the fan by tomorrow, if I forget, just stop by or call the class.” 

“Room A4, right?” 

Waylon nodded. 

“I look forward to it.” 

Wow, Waylon would try not to read too much into _that_ because on one hand he could lose his cool that he never had and freak out like a teenager with a crush or he could stay calm and pretend it never happened so he could function properly like a normal human being. As tempting as the former sounded, he took the latter and waved a quiet goodbye to Miles as he left the classroom. 

That night as he watched his show and poked at his Chinese take-out, barely typing a single word into his computer, his thoughts often trailed to Miles Upshur. He had this image of the man in his head, the one his older students who came back to visit him had shaped, but this afternoon he didn’t seem like that man at all. Sure, he was quick witted and suave in a bad boy kind of way, but talking with him, joking, was easier than expected. And the way he talked with Edward? It was so sweet, he had never heard anybody speak to the troublesome boy that way, and he had never heard Eddie respond so respectfully, or sound so… biddable. 

The thoughts plagued him, and eventually he got enough work done to call it a night, or early morning by then. When he awoke, he barely had time to get ready, let alone stop for coffee. Then his bus was early, and he was running through the parking lot with his messenger bag trailing behind him, just making it into the foyer at the nick of time. 

“Woah Waylon, you good, buddy?” 

For a moment he looked up from heaving over his shoes, greeted with a set of big, green eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses. 

“Yeah… I just – I missed my bus…” 

“I assumed so,” Blake held a brown cup out to him, “When you weren’t here before me I stopped by Starbucks and picked you up a mocha.” 

Tears could have welled up in his eyes in that moment he was so relieved. Blake was a godsend on some days, a pain in his ass on others, but overall he was one of his best friends and could read him like an open book. 

“You’re the best.” 

“Consider it payment for dealing with Miles yesterday,” he smiled widely, like it meant something else, “How’d that go by the way?” 

Waylon squinted accusingly as he took a sip of his mocha, “Fine, why are you saying it like that?” 

“No reason,” the younger man shrugged, and the bell rang so he excused himself, leaving Waylon clutching his lukewarm paper cup in confusion, kids filing around him to rush to their lockers one last time or head to their designated class. 

His first period was very easy. The senior students knew what they were doing, so they all kind of just kicked back and relaxed for a while, he even let some of the more reliable students put on some music from the speakers at the front. It wasn’t really his thing, but it was catchy and interesting, and he still enjoyed it. 

The next was a junior class, then he had lunch which he spent in his room marking some more assignments since he had gotten behind, then his regular sophomore classes, which were a bit more rowdy than usual. It was just one of those years, he guessed. Waylon never had a class he didn’t like, but this one was just particularly difficult to manage. While he was trying to break Chris and Billy up from a rather heated argument about who was the best Spider-Man, he found himself getting quite frustrated, unsure of what to do. 

“Spider-Man 2099 has venom, Chris, this isn’t up for discussion – “ 

“He is arrogant! Spider-Man’s greatest powers are his morals, his emotions, Miles Morales has a strong sense of – “ 

“He is so fast he can create a body double, Chris, a _body double!_ He is ten times cooler than any Spider-Man!” 

They were getting into each other’s faces now, and both of them towered well over Waylon, especially Chris. He knew if they did fight, he wouldn’t be the one to stop them. 

Enter Lisa, who seems to walk in at every possible opportunity to make Waylon look bad. 

“Am I… interrupting something?” 

Chris and Billy immediately sat back down in their seats, leaving Waylon to slump against the desks behind him and let out the breath he had been holding. 

“Hey, Ms. Alleyne, how’s it going?” 

“Well,” she smirked at Waylon, “Don’t know if I can say the same for you though, what seems to be the problem?” 

He turned to face her, “Wall crawlers and their ranking on the cool meter, I’m afraid. What can I do for you?” 

“I’m having some computer troubles again, could you possibly come by after school? I’d ask now but,” she looked to Billy and Chris staring daggers into their computer screens, “Seems like a bad time.” 

“Oh, oh!” he stood straighter, “Are you around for a while? I just have one thing to do after school then I swear I’ll be right over.” 

“Sure thing, and here,” she handed him a paper cup from the break room. “Heard you were late this morning,” she gave him a warm smile and waved goodbye to the class, “Have fun computing, kids.” 

Surprisingly, after her visit everything calmed down quite a bit. Lisa had a way with kids that he would never quite understand, and he knew she would be a great mother some day. If only she had better taste in guys. The last few had been… interesting, to say the least. 

“Is Ms. Alleyne your girlfriend, Mr. Park?” 

A little bit of the shitty lunchroom coffee dribbled out of the side of his mouth, and he immediately shot back to avoid getting any of it on his keyboard. He laughed nervously as he wiped his mouth on a napkin, turning to Marta, who had apparently been the one to ask. 

“No, I don’t… it’s none of your business, guys, just focus on your work.” 

Both Marta and Ethan turned to each other with less than innocent grins, glad they got a reaction out of the man, but he pretended to not see it. He sipped the gross beverage and tried not to flinch when the disgustingly sweet and bitter taste hit his tongue. 

“But she always brings you lunch,” Ethan started, “And sometimes she drives you to school.” 

“We are _friends_ ,” the blond hissed, “Friends help each other out. I’m a busy guy, so she sometimes brings me lunch, and I sometimes bring her coffee, that’s what friends do for each other.”

“But you’re not married to anybody?” asked Marta.

“No, I’m not, but that’s not important.” He crossed his arms and turned in his rolling chair to face the entire class, “You know guys, I don’t know how things work nowadays, but in my day friends did things for each other. Like give each other rides or have lunch together.” 

“Like you and Mr. Langermann eat lunch together?” Val added.

“Yes, exactly, like Mr. Langermann and I.” 

Val’s lip quivered and they bit it before adding, “Are you and Mr. Langermann dating?” 

A loud bellowing cacophony of laughter erupted from the entire class, and Waylon couldn’t help but chuckle a bit to himself because he did kind of walk into that one. When it finally quieted down and he could get a word in edge wise he corrected them. 

“Ha-ha,” he spoke dryly, “Very funny, Val, but no, Mr. Langermann and I are not dating, and I’m not seeing anybody right now.” 

The serious tone in his voice was enough to get them all quiet and turning back to their work. Eventually the bell rang, and his coffee ran out, and his freshman students began filing in. He couldn’t help but be thankful for his friends at the school, who knew that without the fuel of his harrowing caffeine addiction he probably wouldn’t make it through the day. 

Class went smoothly, all of the kids very adamant on finishing their assignments soon so they could have free time to goof off, lose the stress a bit. He had to help a few of them, but they were surprisingly self sufficient, and before he knew it the period was over and it was time to head to the art wing. 

Principle Blaire was standing in the middle of the foyer with a stern, incriminating look on his face like he was on the prowl for anybody who would step a toe out of line after dismissal, so Waylon found himself crouching a bit and trying to shield the man from his view, getting lost in a sea of senior students. He knew if Jeremy saw him he would chew him up for almost being late. Waylon had been late enough, he knew if he had one more late start his job would be terminated, maybe something worse whatever that might be. 

Miles’ class was completely empty when he arrived, which he considered both a blessing and a curse, but he knocked quietly as he entered to be polite. Miles deep amber eyes shot up and he greeted Waylon with subtle but enthusiastic smile that had his gut churning. It should be illegal to look at him that way. 

“Hey, Mr. Park, glad to see you showed up, I was just about to call you.” 

“Sorry, I had to stop by one of the supply rooms for some stuff,” he paused before stepping forward, “You… you can call me Waylon, if you’d like.” 

“Waylon,” the younger man spoke in a tone lower than usual, and the heat in his gut made Waylon regret ever saying anything, “I insist you call me Miles, then.” 

“Uhhhhh yeah, sure thing.” The blond made his way over to the desk to inspect the computer that was still turned off. He did what he needed, adjusted a few things before finally finishing up and setting it back down. The silence was deafening but he finished quickly and pressed the on button, watching as the screen lit up and the start-up sound played. 

When he turned around Miles was leant back in his chair, lips upturned in a subtle smirk and staring at Waylon with eyes that were hooded and dark, and it had never occurred to Waylon that the man might be silent because he was staring even though he knew he had a reputation for never shutting his goddamn mouth. 

“Thanks,” he spoke finally, “I’ll be a bit more careful from now on.” 

Waylon gave him a small nod and turned away to make sure the computer was starting up properly before he remembered something else. 

“Oh, also,” he reached into his bag and pulled out an item, “This is a case with a built-in cooler. It’s mine, but I just sold my old Mac for parts, so I won’t be needing it.” He handed it to the brunet who turned it over in his hands inspecting the dark blue casing. 

“How much do you want for it?” 

“Oh! No, nothing! Don’t worry about it, if you didn’t take it, I’d probably just be throwing it out or selling it on Craigslist.” 

“Tell you what,” Miles took a step into Waylon’s space and reached for the computer, “How about I take you for coffee? I know a really good place just by the mall, so not that far, but there are barely any students.” 

The case snapped into place and Waylon was flinching slightly at the jarring noise, set on edge by Miles’ clothed shoulder brushing his. Miles was taller than him, but not quite as tall as Blake, so he could feel his breath against him as he spoke, which didn’t help his oversensitivity in the moment. He felt like his brain was short-circuiting, error signs flashing everywhere, _’We lost him, Jack!’_

“Sure,” he finally stammered, “Sure, I-I’d like that, but I don’t have a car, I have to – “ 

“I’ll pick you up. What’s your number?” 

Without even thinking, Waylon was pulling out his phone and reading off his number like this wasn’t the worst idea in the history of ideas ever. The blond was already making a complete fool of himself, who knew what he would do in a completely new environment? Probably make Miles uncomfortable with his stupid sense of humour and awkward personality. 

Then his phone buzzed and made a small jingle, showing he had a new text alert: 

_(Number): I feel something brewing between us_

Waylon let out a loud bark of a laugh, trying to hold back giving Miles the satisfaction that such a lame pun got to him. 

“My weakness,” the blond shook his head, “Don’t start a pun war with me, I have no mercy.” 

“I count on it.” 

Then he winked. 

He fucking winked. 

And Waylon swore he died right there on the spot. 

Until his phone buzzed again in his hand, and he could only feel it if he wasn’t dead, so he came to the conclusion that he was still alive, and that Lisa was messaging him about how long he would take to get to help her. 

“Shit, sorry, I have another…” he motioned to the door, “thing, but I’ll message you tonight?” 

“Sure thing, Waylon,” Miles smiled softly and waved him out the door, “See you later.”

The blond shut the door behind him and collapsed against it, taking a deep breath like he hadn’t smelt fresh air in years, even though this was not fresh air and the hallway smelt like pencils and cafeteria sloppy joes, which wasn’t really a good combination. His phone buzzed again, Lisa asking him to respond, before he quickly rushed to the art room to meet her. 

She could tell something was up, and he knew it. Maybe Lisa could smell the anxiety on him or something because as he worked on her computer she loomed, and she only did that when she wanted something. Not looking up from the computer, he finally spoke. 

“Say what you wanna to say.” 

Lisa caved, taking a deep breath and gripping one hand on his shoulder before asking, “Did something happen? You seemed… flustered.” 

He put a hand on his phone in his pocket. 

“Nope.” 

“Are you positive?” 

“I am never flustered. Not once. I am the epitome of strength and composure. Anxiety who?” 

She shot the blond a disdainful look as she fiddled with a pencil, “Very funny, but I know something’s up. Where were you before you came to see me? What took so long?” 

Waylon’s typing paused momentarily, “Talking with a student,” then it continued, and he hoped she didn’t catch his pause when he was thinking of an excuse, but _of course_ she did, this was Lisa they were talking about. 

“Yeah, that’s a lie,” she pouted, “Was it Jeremy? Is he being creepy again? Want me to give him the mom talk –“ 

“Lisa,” he groaned into the keyboard, “I was… in Miles’ room.” 

The dark-haired woman shot off the desk and gripped a hand on his shoulder but he didn’t raise his face. 

“Really? For what? You’re finally not afraid of him? Did you – “ her eyes narrowed, “Did you guys… _you know-”_

“Ew, Lisa!” 

“Well, you were all blushy and weird when you got in here, I don’t know!” If you didn’t know Lisa was a drama teacher, you would be able to tell from her exaggerated hand gestures. “Plus, he’s hot, and he asks about you all the time.” 

Waylon’s eyes grew wide and he started stammering again, “Wha- What do you mean? What are you talking about? He doesn’t… stop lying, Lisa!” 

“I’m not, I swear!” she crossed her heart, “Every staff party or event is just _’Where’s Mr. Park? Blake says he’s sick again. Why does he never come to these things?’_

“I’m just… busy.”

“Yeah, busy avoiding an absolutely gorgeous man who is head over heels for you.” 

Waylon quickly finished up, shutting down the computer and turning back to Lisa. 

“Well, we’re going for coffee, and if anything happens, you’ll be the last to know.” 

She called after him as he left the room, whining and complaining as he made his way down the hall, but he just ignored it. Maybe playing into Lisa’s little fantasies would be fun, but he knew there was no way in hell Miles Upshur was interested in a sad little IT guy like him who had an addiction to video games and an aversion to social situations. 

Finally on the bus ride home, he received another message. Expecting it to be Lisa complaining some more, he swiped open his screen, but read another name. 

_Miles: Let me guess, you like sweet coffee?_  
_You’re probably a mocha kind of guy.  
or frappe or whatever that shit is called_

Waylon smiled to himself and hoped nobody on the bus saw the light blush spread across his freckled cheeks. 

**Waylon: pretty spot on mr upshur maybe english wasnt ur calling**

_Miles: No, you just seem like a sweet guy_

Internally, Waylon was face palming. Definitely not in a million years blushing harder. He wasn’t a teenage girl. 

_Miles: Two things, what is your address and what day works for you?_

Waylon thought for a minute before answering. Would tomorrow be too direct? Miles was being plenty direct, but it worked for him, and maybe he knew Waylon would be just fine and go in whatever direction the younger man pushed him. He gave off that vibe, he knew. 

**Waylon: i live in louisville  
i hope thats not out of ur way**

_Miles: no problem, I live in Aurora_

He lives in… Aurora. He drives an hour every day from Aurora, in that shitty Jeep, just to get to work. 

If Miles Upshur wasn’t an enigmatic burrito and a half. 

**Waylon: wow thats a ways  
does monday work?**

_Miles: sure, see you tomorrow around 7:00?_

Waylon sent back a ‘sure’ and his exact address before putting in his headphones and settling in for the rest of his ride back home. The actual weight of the situation didn’t hit him until he was at home making himself some stir fry with the few vegetables he had left in his fridge, and suddenly he was dropping his fork and the sauce packet into the pan. 

“What the ever-loving _fuck_ am I doing!” he cried, tearing off his glasses, burying his face in his hands and slumping against the cabinets. If this was another time, he would hope his neighbours wouldn’t hear, or he would worry about the sauce packet catching on fire, but right now his biggest issue was that he just agreed to what may or may not be a date with the literal man of his dreams, which is too good to be true while also simultaneously being his worst nightmare. What if Miles was actually a –

Well, he was known to be a dick. But what if he was the insufferable kind? What if he ruined the perfect image of him that Waylon had in his head? Or what if he was everything Waylon dreamed of and more, and it _wasn’t_ a date, or they became friends and Waylon just had to pretend he didn’t think of him when he was in the shower or something, because that’s something you don’t admit to your bro. Frankly, none of these situations sounded ideal and Waylon found himself crying a little pathetically as he pulled the paper out of his dinner and turned off the burner. 

A million thoughts rushed through his mind that night, like _‘Maybe I should get a haircut this weekend,’_ and _’What if he’s just looking for tech advice!’_ then suddenly it was morning, and he didn’t even know if he fell asleep once or not. 

The weekend went by without a hitch, lots of marking, take-out, and second-guessing every life decision he had ever made, and then suddenly it was Monday morning, and he had to face up.

Sluggishly, he took a shower, put on a clean flannel over some questionably clean jeans and a t-shirt before coating his armpits in deodorant to prepare for the hot Colorado afternoon. Getting his stuff together was the last step before he was grabbing his wallet and keys and rushing down the steps to greet Miles. 

Who looked… amazing, as always, but there was something else. His hair was sort of messier, maybe damp like he had just taken a shower, and he was again wearing track pants and a sweater to shield himself from the early morning cold. Then he was opening the door for Waylon, which made him blush and fluster, so much so that he forgot to greet the man like a normal person. 

“Well, good morning to you too, Waylon.” 

“Good morning!” he immediately shot out, “Sorry! Sorry, just… late night.” 

“I hear ya’,” he smiled, “Nothing a cup of joe can’t fix, right?” 

Waylon smiled back just as warmly and nodded, glad Miles just kind of went along with whatever weird thing the blond was up to. He was good at turning awkward situations into positive ones. 

“So, have you lived in Colorado your whole life?” 

Was not something Waylon was expecting to be asked this morning, but he’ll take it. 

“No, actually, I was born in New York, we moved here for my mom’s job when I was sixteen. What about you?” 

“Texas,” he did shoulder check and caught eyes with Waylon, “Midland in particular. I came here for the job.” 

Waylon cocked an eyebrow, “You travelled all this way to work at Wernicke?” 

“It was more to get away from my family. We don’t really get along,” his knuckles momentarily tightened on the steering wheel, “And I thought hey, you know what’s nice this time of year? Colorado.” His slight smirk grew on his face as he turned to Waylon, “You know what I didn’t take into account? That maybe Colorado isn’t so nice all the time.” 

The blond laughed, “I know, the snow’s a bit overwhelming at first. My first winter here we went straight into a ditch, and I was so scared after that it took me an extra year to get my license.” 

Miles was super easy to talk to. Like, _really_ easy to talk to. Waylon thought maybe if Miles had a superpower it was making people comfortable in normally uncomfortable situations. He found himself wondering why he had avoided him all these months and why he was so worried for this morning, and then he would look at Miles and realize why all over again. Waylon swore the man was ethereal and sometimes he felt like if he didn’t watch what he was saying he would admit it out loud. 

This feeling carried on all the way into the cool coffee shop where they sat a booth near the back after they received their drinks. So far, Waylon had learned that Miles was born in Midland, has written a novel, is twenty-six years old, has a big family, and has nothing in his coffee; absolutely nothing at all. He orders a plain black Americano and sips at it right away like it’s not scalding and burning a hole in his tongue. Waylon feels kind of childish and silly, Miles knows he is thirty-one years old and gave a small, good-hearted chuckle when he ordered his white chocolate mocha with extra whip cream.

“How do you drink that shit?” 

“Excuse you,” Waylon squinted at him, “I should be asking _you_ that question. You and your… nasty bean water.” 

Miles sucked his lip and rested his head on his palm, staring up at Waylon with a fond expression. “Did you just call coffee bean water?” 

“Maybe I did,” defended the blond, “Because it’s true. I just drink this kind of stuff for the caffeine.” 

“I bet I could make coffee you would enjoy.” 

“That’s big talk.” 

“I’m a big talker,” Miles sipped his drink, “So what’s with Jeremy Blaire?” 

This could mean a number of things. Waylon wasn’t sure how to exactly answer. 

“You have to be more specific. I mean, like, what’s his issue? Why is he such a pervert? Why does he literally look like every James Bond villain ever?” 

Miles laughed with his whole body, and Waylon found himself returning the fond expression. 

“Just, what’s his deal, you know? He acts like he works at a prison, not a school. I know I’m pretty direct in my approach but I don’t know he’s just…” he paused as if looking for the correct word, “something else.” 

“Yeah, something else entirely.” Finally Waylon’s drink cooled down enough for him to sip at, “He used to work for a big, fancy school in Leadville. An all boys reformative boarding school, called Mount Massive or something.” 

“He lost his job?” Miles look like he was ready for dirt on the man. 

“Sadly, no. It closed down, something about legalities, maybe child abuse, but nothing was ever found on him. A couple of the kids and other teachers even transferred to Wernicke.” 

“District thing?” 

Waylon shook his head, “Sister schools.” 

How Miles had gone a full year at the school not knowing this was beyond Waylon. It was just common knowledge that Principle Jeremy Blaire was probably up to something, and had been involved in some illegal stuff, and none of them would be surprised if he still was. Sometimes at staff parties he would get drunk and let things slip, but nobody ever called him out on it, especially since sometimes he got… handsy, so they were pretty busy avoiding him. That was another reason Waylon avoided staff parties like the plague, Jeremy just seemed to have it out for him for one reason or another.

“I think… Eddie went to that school, right?” 

“Eddie Gluskin? Yeah, a few years before it closed down.” 

Miles stared at his cup, amber eyes searching for something. He was obviously deep in thought about something. 

“He’s a good kid. I’ve been working with him a lot and I just…” he ran a hand through his hair, “I hope I’m getting through to him.” 

“You are!” Waylon sputtered out, earning him a look, “I mean, I heard you talking with him the other day. He was so… I don’t know, I’ve just never heard him sound like that before. He must really like you.” 

“He’s been through some shit,” Miles shook his head, “I can’t get into it, but things are rough, so hearing that he went to that school… makes a lot of sense actually. Thanks,” he reached across the table to put a hand over Waylon’s, absentmindedly running a thumb over his knuckles, “I really needed to hear that, thank you.” 

Even though his mind was screaming and every nerve in his body was urging him, _begging_ him to pull back, he didn’t. Keeping his composure, he let the younger man continue his musings until he pulled away for another sip of his coffee. 

“You cold?” he suddenly spoke, motioning to Waylon’s arms. 

“Oh,” he hadn’t noticed there were goose bumps growing all over his arm, “I didn’t –“ 

“Here,” suddenly in a flourish Miles was pulling off his hoodie and handing it to Waylon, who can barely think let alone speak and tell him that he really isn’t cold, he just wasn’t expecting the half-assed hand holding so soon. When his brain finally caught up to the situation, he took it, pulling it over his head and trying not to inhale because it smelt absolutely amazing but that would be weird. Right? 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, pulling the hood off his head whilst trying not to muss his hair. It was already messy and embarrassing, overgrown to the point of no styling; he didn’t need to make it any worse. 

“No problem,” smirked Miles, “Looks better on you than me.” He threw back his cup and motioned to the blond, “Come on, we better head out or we’ll be late. One more for the road?” 

Waylon nodded and stood to move back into line. The shop was growing busier and busier as the minutes went on, but still it only took a few minutes to get to the front, and pull out his wallet – 

But suddenly Miles was spouting off both his and Waylon’s orders and paying without giving the older man a second to intervene. 

“Hey,” Waylon pouted, “You already drove me.” 

“You’re kind of on the way,” Miles defended, “If it’d make you feel better, maybe I’ll let you pay next time.” 

The man winked and oh boy, did that ever do something unsavoury to Waylon. He really needed to stop winking or Waylon was going to have to sit him down and explain that he shouldn’t be doing those kinds of things in public. It was borderline pornographic, which may be a bit of an exaggeration, but not to Waylon. 

On the same note, he said ‘next time’. Next time as in they would do this again. Miles not only wanted to spend time with him today out of necessity, but he expected them to hang out _again._ Waylon couldn’t help but blush a bit and pull the neck of the hoodie as they entered the Wrangler once again despite the chilly morning air. 

They arrived at school and parted ways, both cheerily walking back to their respected classrooms. Waylon must have an extra skip in his step because when he walks into his classroom and Blake turns around from whatever desk he had been rummaging through, he cocks his head and squints at Waylon since he doesn’t have his glasses on. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Waylon Park?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he puts one hand on his hip and takes a sip of his coffee, “What are you doing in my room without permission? We talked about this.” 

Blake held up a large chord, “HDMI chord for the projector, sorry I have a presentation and it couldn’t wait. Anyway, you - ” he pointed at the man and crossed an arm across his chest, “Are surprisingly happy for half passed seven in the morning.” 

“It’s eight –“ 

“Shit! Is it really?” Blake suddenly panicked, rushing past Waylon but not before taking a quick sip of his coffee, “Ugh, gross, bye!” He ran out the door, “We’ll continue this discussion later!” 

Waylon stared after him, holding his coffee in his hand but reconsidering drinking after Blake put his lips all over the lid. Miles did pay for it, and he would feel guilty if he didn’t, so he sucked it up and kept drinking the beverage. 

Eventually his first set of students filed in and class went smoothly, he only had two classes today since his grade eleven and twelve students were all prepping for finals in the library and in the respected spare classrooms. First period with the freshmen went by without a hitch, and when second period with the sophomores rolled around it seemed like it would go by just the same. 

_Miles: busy this evening?_

Waylon fought the small smile that etched its way onto his face without permission. 

**Waylon: that depends**

_Miles: on???_

**Waylon: what that question entails**

_Miles: I was thinking dinner  
Possibly food if that’s not too wild a notion for you_

**Waylon: yeah i eat  
i have some assignments to finish up marking though**

_Miles: so do I but we could do them together_  
unless I’m too distracting  
understandable, I know I’m devastatingly handsome 

Waylon fought back the urge to confirm Miles’ jokes. 

**Waylon: ha ha very funny**  
**as you can tell im in hysterics  
your place or mine? **

_Miles: Aurora is kind of out of the way for you so does yours work?  
around 6 maybe_

Waylon confirmed and was snapped back to the moment when Val cleared their throat above him. 

“Oh, sorry Val, what can I do for you?” 

“Are you texting your girlfriend?” they asked, leaning over the desk. 

“No, I’m not. We talked about this, Val.” 

“Alright,” they raised both hands in submission, “Just had that look on your face, you know.” 

Whatever that meant, Waylon didn’t know, but he hoped he never made the face ever again if it was as incriminating as Val made it seem. They were perceptive, more so than most students, but it still didn’t give Waylon an excuse to make disgustingly sweet faces at his phone every time he got a text from a cute boy. 

The class finished, and during lunch he stayed behind to help Chris with a few things on his project, which dragged on a bit into his next free period. He knew the kid had trouble on some things, so he was completely for him asking for some extra help after class, even if it took up his time. 

At the tail end of that period, as he was escorting Chris out, Blake suddenly rushed into the classroom. 

“There you are!” before Waylon could say goodbye to Chris, Blake was grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the art block, practically dragging him, “Do you have a class after this?” It was yelled more than spoken, and before Waylon stuttered out an answer, Blake shouted “Good!” and pulled him into the photography classroom. 

“What uh - what seems to be the problem?” 

“I’ve been trying to get the projector working all Lunch and last period!” he pointed to said object on the cart in the very center of the classroom, “I’ve done everything I could think, but it hates me!” 

Waylon shook his head but walked over anyway, “Maybe it would be better if you had your glasses.” 

“I’ve been looking for them all day, you have no idea!” said the man on the verge of hysterics, “Lynn’s mom won’t let us sleep in the same room together, but since she’s in the guestroom I have to sleep on the couch, and my phone died so my alarm didn’t go off and I slept in,” he slumped further into his chair, “I’m twenty-eight years old! A grown man! And suddenly I can’t sleep in the same bed as my girlfriend of thirteen years? Preposterous. Who does she think she is?” 

“Maybe,” Waylon said, not looking up from his tinkering, “You should have married her years ago like we all keep telling you instead of waiting a decade.”

“Please,” he rubbed his tired eyes, “I’m already having a bad day, don’t kick me while I’m down.” 

The bell rang and Waylon assured Blake that he would have it done in a matter of a few minutes. The kids said hello and talked with him a bit, but mostly just let him do his work so that Blake could stop struggling to read off the tiny writing on his papers without the help of his glasses, because frankly, it was agonizing. Finally Waylon finished, and they began sorting through slides of photos the kids had taken over the years. He tried to leave, not wanting to distract them, but they insisted he stayed to watch, so it would be rude to refuse. 

They were really amazing. Every student had a different style, a different focus, and he could almost always point out who’s was who’s. Eddie often took photos in a garage of sorts, old model cars, and lots of shop windows of boutiques and dresses. Dennis took lots of dog photos. In fact, every photo Dennis took was of a dog. Lydia took photos of her friends and family, Marta took quite a few nature shots around her family farm, and Val had quite a few photos from inside abandoned buildings, which should have been worrying, but it was Val. It was really neat and he was glad to have been invited to watch. 

Their session was interrupted by the door opening and Lynn slipping inside, all eyes turning to her. 

“Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?” 

“It’s all good, hold up a second guys. Waylon, can you watch them?” 

Waylon nodded and excused Blake, taking a seat by the projector and flipping through a few more photos. 

“These are really good guys, how long have you been doing these?” 

“They’re from our portfolio, so these are our best from this year,” explained Reller. 

“I can tell!” he smiled at the boy, who was pretty much a man by now, “They’re all awesome.” 

“Mr. Park,” he turned to Val, “Who was that woman?” 

Waylon thought for a second before he answered. Val was being awfully nosey these past few days and he wasn’t sure if the truth was really what they were after. 

“Mr. Langermann’s girlfriend.” 

“So you weren’t lying!” 

“Why would I –“ he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Guys, I know it’s almost the summer, but I think you’re getting a little too comfortable with us.” 

The door opened again and Blake stepped in without Lynn, now wearing his glasses. She must have had a free moment from the station and came by to drop them off for him, which was nice of her, considering her busy schedule. 

“Sorry about that guys we’re…” he trailed off at the sight of Waylon, “All good.” 

Waylon really didn’t like the smirk on his face, and he was beginning to wonder why everybody was suddenly getting so weird lately. 

Knowing class was about to finish and all the school was going to be dismissed, he excused himself and walked back to his classroom to put things together. He should probably clean the house a bit before Miles came over, since it was kind of messy and he would like to make a good impression. He wasn’t normally so disorganized but things had gotten so busy lately, cleaning just wasn’t the first thing on his mind. 

Just as he was about to leave, Blake caught him on the shoulder. 

“In a rush? Don’t you have things to mark?” 

“Yeah but I have plans tonight.” 

“Do those plans involve…” he gestured to the azure blue hoodie Waylon had forgotten to take off, “A certain English teacher?” 

It was suddenly a thousand degrees warmer, and he must have made a face because Blake burst out laughing, pulling Waylon into a side-hug. 

“I’m just teasing! I knew something looked funny, because I didn’t know you owned any hoodies, then when I put my glasses on I saw the UT emblem.” 

“You’re the absolute worst,” Waylon shrugged off the taller man’s arm, “I’m getting friends who aren’t in the arts department. You and Lisa age me.” 

Blake followed him out the door a ways, “Oh come on, man, you may be a nerd but computer science is one thing, you wouldn’t trade me in for Trager or Vigalondo, would you?” 

“Try me,” he growled, “I gotta go.” 

“Well good luck with your plans!” he called after him as Waylon rushed to catch his bus, more just eager to get away from the younger man than anything. He had about enough interrogation for one day and a few quiet hours of cleaning and marking before Miles came over would be good for him. 

Until he realized that he had not planned at all. He seemed reasonable enough, but Waylon had no food in his house right now and was in desperate need of a grocery shop. What if Miles was vegan and that’s why he drank such shitty coffee? What if he couldn’t eat pizza? Waylon was suddenly contemplating whether a disdain for pizza would be a turn off or not. 

He was a thirty one year old teacher who considered pizza a turn on. 

God, what did Miles see in him, honestly? 

By the time six rolled around and Waylon had finished tidying, he didn’t have any time to worry about whether or not food restrictions would be an issue, because there was a buzz at his apartment door and he still hadn’t ordered anything. Better late than never, he guessed. 

Miles looked amazing, as he always did, so Waylon did his best to stop from checking him out. He was wearing jeans, a white shirt, with a brown jacket over top that looked to be leather, and a bag over one shoulder, and Waylon really wondered how he made it here without overheating. 

“See? I’m glad you agree it looks better on you.” 

Was the first thing he said, and Waylon didn’t know what that meant until he looked at himself and realized it was six in the evening and he still hadn’t taken off Miles’ hoodie. 

“Oh -” he began pulling it off but Miles stopped him. 

“Please keep it on,” he grinned, “At least until you want to take it off.” 

Waylon paused his removal of the sweater and moved to let Miles past. The apartment wasn’t anything to marvel at, but Miles was still taking it in. He could tell the man was analysing the room, figuring out what kind of state Waylon was in, but it didn’t feel invasive. 

“I haven’t ordered anything yet, sorry, I’ve been a bit distracted.” 

“It’s no problem,” the younger man let the blond lead him to the living room, “What were you thinking?” 

“Maybe pizza? That’s always a safe bet, right?” 

The grin on Miles’ face grew as he settled onto the couch and pulled his laptop out, “You bet, that sounds awesome.” 

Waylon moved to pick his phone off the counter but paused when he noticed the case he had given Miles, “Yeah, I’ll go…” he trailed off a bit, “I’ll order! Anything in particular you’d like?” 

“I’m quite partisan to pineapple and olives, but if you’re offended then anything will do.” 

Waylon dialled the number and laughed, “I wouldn’t say I’m offended exactly, but lets just say last time Blake ordered pineapple pizza to my home he was no longer invited inside.” 

Despite the slight conflict of interest, Waylon ordered one pineapple and olive pizza for Miles, and another Mediterranean for himself. When he was finished, he pulled out his laptop and joined the brunet on his rather worn leather sofa, but attempted to be a little less self-conscious about it. Miles was a teacher too, he knew all about the salary. 

“So, what are you marking?” Waylon asked, getting Miles’ attention from his computer. 

He turned the screen to show the older man, “Some short stories that my grade nines have written. This is their final project, they’re actually really good.” He scrolled a bit to the top of the page, “This is Murphy's, he wrote his about a prisoner who escapes prison during a transfer accident, and ends up in a haunted abandoned town.” 

“Wow,” Waylon scrolled through it a bit, “How long is this?” 

“About fifteen thousand words,” he clicked off and showed him another. “This is Juli's, hers is about a young detective trying to save her friends from a simulated world. I didn’t ask her to, but Juli wrote about twenty thousand.” 

“These are practically books!” exclaimed the blond, “Did you set the horror theme, or?” 

“No theme, but we got to talking a bit about my book,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “I wasn’t about to let them read it, since it’s a bit mature, but we talked about the plot, and they decided they wanted to write horror novels too.” 

“Oh yeah, you said you wrote a book, may I ask about it?” he turned to the man, “I swear I’m old enough.” 

Miles let out a low chuckle and his eyes lit up, “Although you don’t look it, I’ll let you. It’s about a freelance reporter who is investigating a corrupt asylum in the Colorado mountains, but he’s trapped inside with the inmates during a riot.” 

Waylon’s completely blank face suddenly raised an eyebrow, “Dude, that’s just the plot to Outlast.” 

Miles’ eyes widened and he made a shrugging gesture with his hands as if to say _’your point?’_

The blond’s body completely tensed and he rose off the couch a bit, “Shut up.” 

“Yeah,” 

“Shut ****_up.”_

“I know.” 

“No fucking way! You’re Red Barrel?” 

Miles made another noncommittal shrug, obviously trying to stay humble despite the five-foot-six man-child that was bouncing up and down beside him. 

“You must have written it when you were what, twenty-five? Twenty-four? How did you manage to have a best selling New York Times novel when you were twenty-four, Miles?” 

The other man didn’t look uncomfortable, but he obviously wasn’t expecting the other man to react like this. “It was part of my work for university, my lit prof helped me publish it.” 

Waylon nodded, soaking up all of the information. He was very tempted to geek out, ask a million questions, lose his mind over the fact that now he put a name to the face of the man who had written one of his favourite books of all time, who is simultaneously his co-worker that he has had a major crush on for all of a year. He decided to keep it cool, finally opening up his laptop to show he was fine with this new information, and a million fanboy questions weren’t eating him alive. 

“You ever thought of…” he paused to type his password in, “writing a sequel?” 

“Maybe,” Miles also turned back to his work, “I’d like to, I just haven’t gotten the inspiration yet.” 

Waylon had adored the book, and it had quite the following and fandom on the internet. The way it was written, the imagery, the imaginative storyline and characters on top the horrifying and gut-wrenching plot was the perfect story for him, and the moment Blake had given him the book for Christmas was one he would never forget. There was lots of discussion that first year it was released, especially after it made the New York Times’ list. There was talk of a sequel, of a three book contract, maybe even a movie deal, but it never followed though. Two years later, there was still no new information from the illusive Red Barrel or the publishing company, so Waylon just assumed that one book about the brave and mutilated reporter, Martin Upton, would just have to do, and he would just have to be happy with rereading it every snow day or holiday. 

Then it hit Waylon, and after a moment of silence he turned to Miles, “You’re Martin Upton.” 

Miles didn’t look up from his laptop as he mumbled, “No, I’m Miles Upshur.” 

“No, I mean –“ Waylon pointed at him, “Martin is based off you.” 

The brunet shut his laptop and turned to face Waylon, mouth slightly agape in order to form the words he was trying to say correctly. “It’s difficult for me sometimes… to write characters from scratch. Writing Martin after me was just easier, y’know? Well, I guess, he is based off all the admirable qualities of me, that are far and few between.” 

“Hey, that’s not true,” the blond shifted closer, “I really like Martin but he’s a little too cool for me.” 

Miles grinned and let his head fall to the back of the couch as he looked to Waylon, “Really now?” 

“Yeah he’s like -” Waylon bit his lip, “You in the sense that he’s funny and smart, but kind of intimidatingly so.” 

Miles bellowed and that spark came back to his eyes that made Waylon’s face and posture soften, glad to have made the man relax again. 

“But I sure hope you wouldn’t just walk into a sanatorium like that.” 

“Not one of Martin’s brighter moments, no.” 

The doorbell ringing suddenly interrupted their conversation, and Waylon excused himself to head downstairs and grab the pizza. Miles kept trying to help pay, but the blond wouldn’t budge, insisting that this was to cover the coffee from earlier. 

“Coffee is like less than five bucks, Waylon.” 

The older man shook his head, “It’s the principle of the thing, Miles, eat your gross pizza.” 

He excused himself to wash up while Miles set things up downstairs, and when he returned with his hands washed and his glasses on, the plates he put on the table were set and Miles was already piling a few slices of his strange concoction onto his own. Waylon sat beside him, grabbing his own dinner, and when he finally sat back and brought a piece to his mouth, he could see Miles staring at him, mouth agape, pizza raised in front of it like he had froze mid-bite. 

“Uh Miles?” he motioned to the pizza, “You have to chew it in order to digest it.” 

“Right,” he shook his head, “Sorry, I’ve just –“ he took a bit and swallowed, “I didn’t know you wore glasses.” 

Waylon felt a million times more self-conscious than he had before, reaching up to adjust the thick lenses and push them back up his nose. “Sorry, I know they’re kind of obnoxious. I wear contacts and I don’t normally wear them at home, but I can-“ 

“No,” Miles grabs the blond’s arm to stop him from walking off, “No, Waylon, it’s fine, really. It’s not a big deal, I just didn’t know.” 

Well, obviously it _was_ a big deal, but Waylon didn’t press further, he just settled back down and started eating his pizza properly. They graded a bit more as they ate, talked some more about assignments and upcoming things. There were just two weeks left so they had to get their marks in and their report cards done by the end of this week, Waylon couldn’t let the way Miles pouted slightly when frustrated or twirled his hair absentmindedly between his fingers while he read distract him from the task at hand. 

“I should probably head out, it’s like nine-thirty, I was hoping to leave by nine.” 

The older man knew it was coming soon, but it was still a little disappointing. He felt like he had to make up for the entire year that he had avoided the lovely man, but their time was being cut short. Soon school would be over, and the excuse of a marking buddy would not cut it.

He walked Miles to the door and leaned against the frame as he exited, but not before turning to leave Waylon with one last warm smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Way.” 

“Yeah, goodnight, Miles.” 

There was a brief pause after, like Miles was going to say something else, but he just smiled again then made his way down the steps from the door, leaving Waylon to stand a bit and watch as the cherry red Jeep pulled out of its spot and disappeared down the dimly lit road. 

Then he realized Miles had called him a nickname. Way, not Waylon, and if the man wasn’t such a pillar of strength he may have blushed and maybe made a small noise of embarrassment as he shut the door behind him and quickly rushed up the stairs to his apartment, but he did nothing of the sort. That was so not becoming of him. 

His phone buzzed on the table beside the empty pizza boxes and he quickly read off the messages on the screen that he had been ignoring all night. 

_6:34  
Blake: what time is miles coming over _

__

_7:01_  
_Blake: are you guys grading assignments  
you better not be playing borderlands while im stuck talking real housewives with lynns mom_

_7:09_  
_Blake: waylon lucille park  
playing videogames while ur best bud is being interrogated by the devil is against bro code_

_7:16_  
_Blake: i admit that i dont know ur middle name_  
_i just realized you guys are probably hooking up rn so im glad i wasnt invited_  
_threesomes are not part of the bro code_

___9:36_  
_Lisa: hey, blake just said you and miles are hooking up??_  
_good luck, wayway_  
_i bet he recites poetry while you’re going down on him_

Waylon couldn’t fight of the smirk plastered to his face. They were so full of it sometimes, but he was still glad they believed in him enough, or maybe they were just feeding him lines to make him feel better about probably having no chance with the man. Either way, he replied to Blake and assured the man that yes, they were marking, no, they were not playing videogames, and yes, they were _only_ marking. If he didn’t respond to Lisa, that wasn’t his problem, she shouldn’t have pressed earlier. 

The next morning Waylon did not put on the hoodie, but he did stuff it in his bag, dead set on giving it back to Miles finally. He didn’t have classes today, but they had an assembly today that required his assistance and he usually stuck around since he was the school’s staple tech guru and he was in charge of sorting report cards to prepare for printing and signatures, and that took a lot of prep that he couldn’t do from home or his personal computer. He needed to use the library or staff computers in the office, and between Knoth and Blaire, he would say Knoth was the lesser of two evils, really. 

The bus was right on time, too, so he had enough time to get to the coffee shop, pick up coffee for him and three others, before walking the short distance to the school. He would have to be quick, the drinks were probably already cooling so he would stop by Lisa’s last. 

Blake’s room was first, and the man looked dead tired when Waylon walked in, glasses in his hand and head over the back of the chair, long legs sprawled out under the desk. The door was open, but Waylon knocked on the frame anyway. 

“Wakey Blakey, I brought coffee.” 

The dark head shot up and he brought his glasses up to his face, “So you didn’t die last night.” 

“What are you talking about?” he laughed and handed the man his coffee, waiting for his measured sip before he continued. 

“You weren’t messaging me back and then when you finally did I assumed you had probably been kidnapped and they were just covering it up.” 

“Nope, I was at home.” 

“Could you say you were,” he dramatically slid his glasses up his nose with his thumb and middle finger, “a little tied up?” 

“You don’t deserve my coffee.” 

Waylon spun on his heels and marched out the door in the direction of Miles’ room, ignoring the shouts of _”I love you but I’m not sorry!”_ from the photography room, making him glad the halls were so empty this early in the morning. 

Miles wasn’t in his room, but Waylon just assumed he was a bit late because of the late night, so he walked over to Lisa’s room instead. Then he heard laughing inside, _giggling_ , and a small chuckle that sounded suspiciously like Miles. The door was closed, an obvious warrant for privacy, which made Waylon’s stomach churn a bit. 

He didn’t own Miles. Nobody owned Miles. Miles would probably punch anybody who said he was anything other than a free man. But still the insinuation of the gesture made his heart jump to his throat a bit. It made sense, and he should be happy if Lisa and Miles were interested in each other. Lisa was always got into the wrong type, and Miles would definitely be a step up from her last guys. Two steps up. Leaps and bounds ahead, perhaps. 

The blond knocked and somebody asked him to come in. He reluctantly stepped inside to reveal Lisa sitting at her desk, practically keeled over in laughter, wiping tears from her eyes while Miles sat on top of one of the students desk, a wide grin on his face too. 

“I brought coffee.” 

“Waylon Maria Park,” Lisa wiped at her face, “You’re an angel.” 

“I don’t know where these names are coming from, but I’m going to pretend like they’re not happening at all.” 

He handed Lisa hers, then Miles, who greeted him with a warm smile on a tired-looking face. Despite being so sleep-deprived, he was glowing and beautiful as ever, and Waylon cursed himself for being such a hopeless romantic. 

“Miles was just telling me an interesting story,” she set her coffee down, “about Blaire.” 

He cocked an eyebrow in interest but he was really just glad their earlier hysterics hadn’t been about him. 

“The other day I walked in on him, no joke get this,” he paused for dramatic affect, “Watching porn.” 

“Shut up,” Waylon shook his head and crossed his arms, “You did not.” 

“Would I lie about this shit?” he scoffed, “I should have knocked, but the moment I walk in, he slams his computer shut and yells something about privacy and young people not having manners.” 

“So what’d you do?” 

_”Obviously_ I made an excuse to stay longer, he was probably chewing sand with how much he was grinding his teeth.” Lisa and Waylon were both laughing at this point, and Miles was smiling softly at the blond man beside him over his coffee lid. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll admit,” said Waylon through giggles, “That does sound like him.” Then he remembered what he had for the man, “Oh Miles, I forgot to give you this,” he pulled the folded hoodie from his messenger bag and handed it to the younger man, who stared down at with an odd expression before saying his thanks, then excusing himself, apparently an early-morning meeting with a student. 

Lisa took a deep, dramatic breath, folding her hands in front of her face. 

“Spill, Park.” 

“Nothing to spill,” he took a nonchalant sip of his coffee, “I’m a free man.” 

“No, no, no!” she shook a finger at him, “I know Miles was at your house last night. Show me the hickeys.” 

“Lisa!” he scoffed, “There are no hickeys to show, _Alleyne,_ I think you should get your facts straight.” He crossed his arms defensively again, “Do you listen to everything you hear from Blake? Marking. We were marking.” 

“Yeah, each other…” she mumbled under her breath, making Waylon throw his hands in the air exasperatedly. 

“I’m done with you art kids.” 

“Hey!” spat Lisa defensively, “I can’t help but come to conclusions, Way, he left his sweater at your house and you’re both smitten.” 

“Lis…” he shook his head, “I’m really not feeling the teasing this early in the morning.” 

“No teasing,” she crossed her heart, “I’m serious. He likes you.” 

“Bye, Lisa,” he began walking out, “See you at the assembly.” 

Some of his tech students were already in the gym, setting up equipment. He joined them, asking about their weekends and plans for the summer as they set up the projectors and computers to play the presentation. It was some goodbye thing, an amalgamation of all the students’ greatest achievements that year has photographed by Blake’s photography club and the yearbook committee. It didn’t take long, and the bell for class to begin rang, and suddenly teachers were leading their kids into the gymnasium to sit up on the bleachers, all of them taking their spots in the chairs on the floor so they could watch the students and the presentation. 

Waylon was too immersed in keeping the setting going and making sure his tech kids were doing their job to notice Miles walk in. He was one of the first groups in there, so he let himself watch Waylon a bit, the way he bit his lip when he was focused or how gentle he was when speaking to the kids. He was an opposite to Miles, tough and blunt, how he was raised and conditioned during school. But it was nice to see. Over the school year, Miles saw many instances of this behaviour from Waylon, he couldn’t help but admire the man’s cool demeanour and sensitive side, a side he hadn’t touched of himself in years. 

Then suddenly black hair and glasses blocked his field of vision, and Blake was running a hand in front of his face. 

“Hey, Miles, mind if I sit here?” 

He sat down in the seat beside Miles could answer him, shooting out a “Great, thanks,” over the lull of the crowd of students and teachers filing in, and eventually the gymnasium was full and the presentation was starting. 

“Hey,” Blake whispered, “Isn’t that the sweater Waylon was wearing yesterday?” 

The words seemed rehearsed, and he knew what Blake was playing at right away. The man had been trying to get him to ask the IT teacher on a date for months, and he still hadn’t gotten his way, but he would rather not amuse him. 

“Yeah, he was cold.” 

He hoped the tone in his voice shut Blake up, but apparently he wasn’t done because a few moments later he was leaning in again. 

“Did you guys go on a date yesterday?” 

Miles shook his head and kept his eyes trained on the projection screen. 

“Why not?” 

_“Why not?”_ he yell-whispered, “I’ll tell you _why not_ Blake, it’s because he’s not interested.” 

Blake’s lop-sided grin grew and Miles couldn’t help but furrow his brown in frustration. 

“What makes you think that?”

“Ever since Thursday I’ve been laying it on thick but he just…” he ran a hand through his hair, “He’s just not interested, okay? I don't think he likes guys that way.” 

“No, no way, he's been practically in love with you since September, he's probably just worried you're too good for him,” Blake shook his head, “I’m not a professional in this sort of thing, but Waylon is as bi as they come, you know?” 

Miles shot him an exasperated look. 

“I’m not shitting you. He came out to me like four years ago.” 

The look hardened. 

“Miles, he’s bisexual. _Bi-sex-ual._ Gay as fuck. Queer as a three dollar bill–“ 

“I get it!” He snapped at the man, voice raising a bit and earning him an unhappy look from a few teachers turning in their chair. But it did shut Blake up, since he was quiet after that. 

What did Blake know, anyway? He should have never told him he was gay. Yeah, he was interested in Waylon, Blake knew that, but if Waylon had eyes for Lisa than he wouldn’t intervene, he couldn’t be that person. Plus, there was no way a guy like Waylon thought _Miles Upshur_ was too good for him. He slumped a bit in his seat, pulling the sweater over his nose to hide the blush across his cheeks. 

It smelt like Waylon. Oh god, it smelt like his cologne, and that disgustingly sweet coffee, and _Waylon_ , and it didn’t help get that absolutely delicious image of the light blue, well-worn hoodie that was easily two sizes too big that draped over his shoulders like a blanket. 

“Did you just smell the hoodie?” 

“No,” Miles mumbled back a little too quick to be normal, “That’d be weird.” 

“God, just ask him on a goddamn date, you’ll see.” 

Before he could protest, Blake was reaching into his pocket and pulling his phone out without permission, furiously typing in the password that Miles had no idea he knew. His options at this point were to sit quietly and let Blake possibly humiliate him, or punch the much larger man in the nose to get the phone back, cause a scene, and probably ruin a bit of cred at the school. He went with the former; at least if Blake said something corny or Waylon responded negatively he could just blame it on the photography teacher, he knew Blake would take the blame. 

He couldn’t focus on the presentation or Blaire’s words no matter how hard he tried, only watching Blake furiously text away at his phone, until a few minutes later the phone was thrust into his hands, and when he looked at the screen it was open to his conversations with Waylon. 

**Miles: Hey Waylon, would you be interested in going on a date this weekend after school is out? Dinner and a movie on Saturday?**

_Waylon: is this a joke??  
did lisa set you up to this_

**Miles: Nope, just interested in getting to know you better.**

_Waylon: if it isnt then ya saturday works for me_

**Miles: Pick you up at 5?**

_Waylon: sure thing  
ill look forward to saturday_

When Miles looked up from his phone and caught a glimpse of Waylon across the room, he was sitting in a chair behind the projector booth, absolutely beaming into his hands. His face was lit up by his phone, and he had a grin from ear to ear that he was trying to fight back, and maybe a blush across his freckled cheeks, but in the dim light Miles couldn’t really tell. Still, the prospect of maybe putting that blush on his face made his heart sing, and he bit his lip and had to force his eyes away from the adorable man currently gushing all over his phone because _Miles_ had texted him. He could kiss and punch Blake at the same time right now. 

At the end of the presentation, that Miles had paid barely any attention too, he rounded up his students and began leading them out of the gymnasium, but not before catching a quick glimpse of Waylon who was cleaning up the equipment, a light dusting of pink gracing his cheeks, making Miles that much more fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave any comments or critiques! It's really appreciated and lets me know how you're feeling about this, so then I'm motivated to keep working on it! 
> 
> Thanks so much for the read.  
> (Also 10 points if you can catch all the references to other horror games in this, because there's too many.)  
> ~Teddy


End file.
